Angel's Awakening

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWOZarek's clawed hand gripped her throat so tight Az saw the blood sliding down her neck.

He saw red. Literally. The demon rage within him roared, and without a second thought Az raised his weapon. Fired. The shot dinged a chunk of concrete in the wall right above the pair.

“Last warning, man,” said Azazel.

“What. The. f**k?”

He c****d the gun making it ready to fire again. “Next one won't miss.”

With a snarl, his friend released her and stepped back. He was gonna catch hell from Zarek later for calling him by his angelic name. Too bad. He should’ve listened the first time.

“What's your problem, man? What do you mean? Is this sheanar b***h yours?”

“Watch what you say about my lady.” Az lowered his weapon and holstered it at his hip.

Now free, Charouth turned to him. Her silver eyes widened.

“Azazel?” His name, a mere whisper on her lips.

“Yeah, it's me.” His voice softened.

“No. It can't be. You're dead.”

“You know what they say, darling. Rumors. Demise. Exaggerated.” He smiled. Damn, it was good to see her.

Zarek remained silent, his face full of fury.

“Leave us,” Azazel commanded.

“You can't be serious.” Zarek fingered the gun at his hip.

Az rushed Zarek, getting all up in his face. Zarek positioned himself on the offense, wings flared out, ready to attack.

“I got this, man,” Azazel said.

“She could kill you.”

“She won't.”

Zarek relaxed his wings and took a step back. “You trust this sheanar?”

“With my life.”

With a grunt, Zarek picked up both severed heads, sneered, then retreated into the darkness. Az turned back to Charouth. Her silver eyes glinted in the meager light, her full mouth set in a thin line. She cradled an injured arm against her chest, but he still remained on high alert. Hurt or not, she was a force to be reckoned with. Charouth, his midnight goddess. The last time he’d seen her, Julius Caesar was still emperor of Rome.

“This isn't funny,” she said. “Who are you? Why are you impersonating someone two thousand years dead?”

“No joke, mellita. I am who I appear to be.”

His mind reeled. She was as stunning as he remembered from all those millennia ago. Her waist-length indigo hair was now tamed into a braid and wrapped into a bun. The modern dress was a nice change from the togas, stola, and tunics of before. The black cargo pants and black long-sleeved t-shirt looked good on her, but that patch of red, puffy flesh peeking through a large hole in the shirt—not so good. The reason behind it lay a few feet away in a bloody, beheaded lifeless lump. He’d hear from Zarek on that one too.

“Try again, Fallen,” she said.

That damned flaming sword appeared in her uninjured hand. The usually bright light was dim and flickering, yet she held it, feet spread shoulder width apart, face set in an unforgiving expression. Little faker. She could end him before he blinked twice. She didn’t. Plus one to him. She had some doubt. At this point, doubt was a good thing. Luckily for him, Charouth was more diplomat than desperado.

He backed away, both hands raised, palms out. Surrender. He never minded when it came to Charouth. When your lover was one of the most powerful beings in Heaven, pulling the typical alpha male act didn’t cut it. The rage boiling underneath his skin didn’t agree. He stamped out the beginnings of an angry outburst. Honey, not hellfire, would win this battle.

“Whoa. Can you put that away, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was strained, eyes focused on him as if she could see inside his head. Thank the gods she never picked up that power. Angels and telepathy made horrible companions.

“It's me. Really.” He racked his brain for something to remind her of their bond. Something that only the two of them knew. “I can prove it to you. Remember when we first met? You came to harvest coffee on my plantation in Kush.”

“So? That trip wasn't anything special.”

“You were supposed to be there for six days. You stayed for nine.” Something should’ve jarred her memory by now. Angels like her forgot nothing.

Her stony expression wavered for just a second.

Good enough. He pushed on. “On your last day you surprised me with breakfast. You brought cheese. The good stuff. From Samos. You brought honey to go with it. You didn't know it was my favorite. You were the first angel to show me kindness since I Fell. I kissed you. It was your first. You liked it.” She had to remember the kiss. It changed everything in him. In her, too.

Charouth bit her lip. Her eyes shimmered with tears. The flaming sword disappeared. She stared long at him, then shook her head. “No. No. No! This is impossible. You’re dead.”

Why didn’t she believe him? No one else had been at his villa that morning. No one but the two of them knew about that kiss. The kiss that burned in his brain so hotly he knew he’d never forget her. What else could he do to prove himself? He wanted to kiss her. His arms ached to pull her to him, undo that intricate braid, feel the luxuriant indigo waves pouring over his hands and breathe in her fresh ocean scent. Years of experience kept him in check. That sword could appear in a fraction of the time it took to blink. One touch and he’d end up another pile of debris on the concrete floor. Patience. He waited, shutting down the rage bubbling underneath.

Silver eyes focused on him. Her head tilted slightly to the side. In the distance, a train rumbled above their heads and shook loose a chunk of ceiling. Water dripped into a puddle. Azazel continued to wait.

Then Char took a tentative step toward him. A few more steps and she stood right in front of him. He held out his hand. She took it, and he released a long held breath. With relief he tugged her to him and her arms wound around his waist. Careful to avoid her injury, he slid his arms around her, hands finding their natural resting place at the small of her back. Their foreheads touched and they held each other in a silence full of meaning. He didn’t dare speak. What could he say? Hundreds of languages on the tip of his tongue and no words could express how it felt to hold her after all these years. Some things couldn’t be spoken.

“Az—” Her voice was choked with emotion. “How? Where?”

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she released heavy, body-shaking sobs. Her fingers dug into his side in a tight grip. He reveled in the sensation of having her so close. To have her pressed up against him holding him as if he’d disappear if she let up just a little. He bent his head slightly to bury his nose in her hair. Her natural, salty ocean scent rolled over him. For a long while there was nothing but her in his arms. So many years lost. The lump in his throat refused to move and he cursed the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Two minutes into their reunion and he was a heartbeat away from bawling like a baby human. He kissed the top of her head. Her forehead. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? When the fires of Hell raged hottest and the torture threatened to consume his very soul this is what kept him going, the dream of holding her again. Kissing her again. Dammit. Wrong train of thought. The memory of their past kisses slammed into him. Hot demanding kisses. Their mouths fused together, tongues exploring every soft, wet crevice. He groaned as the image sent the part of him he hated most into action. His vision flipped to red in a wave of lust. His skin itched as the claws underneath screamed to get out. The demon side wanted to touch and taste Charouth as much as the man. More so. Oh no you don't. Not here. Not now.

The Rage. Both a blessing and a curse. Every Fallen had it, the essence that kept them alive after the Fall. It enabled them to live and thrive in the Netherworld. The more time spent in Hell, the more the Rage built up, the more powerful the Fallen.

Two thousand years in Hell gave Azazel plenty of power, but he used it sparingly. He hated that the smallest thing would set him off. Forces beyond his control seemed determined to make him lose it. First his new job as Satan’s delivery boy. Then the run-in with Charouth. He was doomed.

Reluctantly he loosened his embrace and stepped away. A couple of deep breaths and his vision returned to normal. The echo of Zarek's obnoxious throat clearing bounced off the walls. Dammit. Forgot about him. Zarek perched on the raggedy edge of the platform staring at them. Oh, so smug. Azazel slipped a protective arm around Charouth's shoulders.

“Sorry 'bout shooting at you. This is the woman I told you about. Charouth, my friend, Zarek.”

Angel nodded at Fallen. Zarek swung the chain that used to hold his favorite pet against the concrete, his gaze zeroed in on Charouth. Azazel studied them with a grim expression. These two needed to stay far apart from each other for the foreseeable future. Great. One more thing to worry about.